


Can't Find a Better Man

by Coriander_Dreams



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1950s housewife au, Babyfic, F/F, Pining, Polyamory, Queer Characters, canon disabled character(s), everybody lives/nobody gets frozen, post-war challenges, solving love triangles through polyamory, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5031499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriander_Dreams/pseuds/Coriander_Dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knew everything was exactly as everyone said it should be, and that by itself was enough to make her nervous: when had what people said worked out for her, anyhow? </p><p>AU in which Steve does not get serumed into Captain America and he and Peggy get married after the war, paving the way nicely for a midlife sexuality crisis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: waiting for the world to come along

**Author's Note:**

> Usually I think of Peggy as firmly bisexual, which makes writing this a little weird because with this fic I'm basically borrowing our dear characters to explore the story that I hear when listening to Pearl Jam's Better Man which is one of midlife sexuality crisis of the more lesbian nature (I go into detail on this story here: http://coriander-dreams.tumblr.com/post/131431370624/coriander-dreams-coriander-dreams-so-you which will be super spoilery for the fic to come) So in this Peggy is leaning more to demisexual or biromantic lesbian than my normal. In general I'm all about Peggy/Steve. In this one they have some problems that I promise will be happily resolved through polyamory.  
> ANNND this is an au. Whoops! almost forgot like the most important note. Okay so this is an au where the serum didn't turn Steve into a super solider but he was in the SSR and ultimately did fight anyway on the eastern front. With his flat feet and asthma--yeah, it's a complete improbability but hey! it also isn't super important to the story.

           Back when there was a war, and Peggy was 19 and newly enlisted, there was nothing in the world but the odd, suspended social rules of warfare. This is how she came of age: in a place where skill was valued over all else, because you needed to have the other person's back and that's all that mattered. She grew into adulthood at a time when no one fully expected to be alive the next morning, and it made them scared. It made them desperate and lonely and willing and beautiful and fleeting. She misses it sometimes, not for the constant death or perpetual discomfort of starving on the enemy line. Not for the subterfuge of intel-gathering or worse, when the intel was insufficient and she typed letters out for the Colonel using the phrase, "missing in action, presumed dead". She missed it for how _alive_ they all were. How young and giddy on survival as they danced the rare peaceful night away, how little it took to make them happy.

            It takes a lot more to make anyone happy, these days.

             And unlike the oft-remembered war, now she's _supposed_ to be happy. She went to America and met a nice boy who was poor at the beginning of it all but now is a war hero, so her parents hardly care about that. She was transferred to a desk job in army intelligence a decorated soldier herself, she got married to that nice boy she met from Brooklyn. The one she'd always trust to have her back. They went on a brief and picturesque honeymoon to some indiscriminately warm and beachy place, and the nice boy used his GI grant to go to art school, and three months later the doctor told her she was pregnant with their first child.

             Their first child, and their white picket fence around their lawn in the Queens, the house they paid for with their army pensions, and their cat and their commute and then when the baby came Peggy quit her job.

            She didn't want to.

            But she also didn't want to be the kind of distant mother her mother was--and her mother hadn't even worked, just left her to be raised by the household staff as was the custom for rich Brits. As she had been raised, and her grandmother before her.  Besides, they just had their pensions and the medicore sums of money Steve's art was starting to bring in and that left nothing over for a babysitter, even if she wanted one.

            Steve offered to watch the child for her in his studio, being the gentleman he was. Steve also habitually went days on coffee alone when he got focused. Anyhow, in the end she had no choice at all: the last few months of her pregnancy had been rough and she'd been ordered into bed rest. Her employer was hardly sympathetic or willing to grant a minimum of three months vacation time she didn't have, so she quit.

            They named their son James, after Steve's best friend growing up. Another of those missing: presumed dead cases that left them both more than a little hollow-feeling. She knew Steve still mourned, saw it every time he looked at their baby with deep sadness in his eyes. She didn't pretend to know precisely what he felt--she had lost friends in the war of course, but none she grew up with. For the most part, she grew up alone with her books, so she could imagine what Steve felt for his James Buchanan Barnes, his Bucky, but she could not understand it.

            Now, she was mostly alone with her books again, and a little one-year-old to read to, her hair grown out and swept into a messy bun.

            She knew everything was exactly as everyone said it should be, and that by itself was enough to make her nervous: when had what people said worked out for her, anyhow? More pressing, however, was her growing boredom. She rocked little James. She sang to him and baked increasingly complex pastries, she read, she kept everything reasonably neat and even tried to sew a little onsie, once. When Steve saw the lopsided result they both had a good laugh--while the military barely taught her to keep her buttons sewn on Steve was quite deft with a needle and thread and went about making James' clothes from then on.

            In any case, she was quickly running out of things to do, and she felt so awful for not being happy with her beautiful little baby or her endlessly patient and sweet and understanding and helpful husband.

            Steve was her best friend. She knew beyond a doubt that there was no man on the face of the earth she'd rather be married to.

            So why was she so horribly restless? Why couldn't she squash the nagging doubt that something wasn't right, wasn't as good as it should be? Why did she hold James' sleeping form to her chest and stare out the window in the morning, waiting for something unnamed and unknown?


	2. Talking to Herself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Oh my gosh thank you all for your kudos and kind words on the prologue :) I forgot to mention that, in keeping with this plot being song-derived, the chapter titles are all lyrics in Better Man. They are in absolutely no way in order. Also, I'm not usually going to be updating this much. While I do have the majority of the fic written already, I'm going to be taking some more time to edit. I'll try to update Mondays and Fridays, for the most part, and we shall see how that goes. As always your comments are very much appreciated, and if you so desire you can drop by my tumblr for a chat--the url/username is in my bio. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> By the way the second paragraph--after the end of the dialogue--is a brief, non-explicit discussion of sex with some hints at dissociation. You can totally skip it completely and be okay plot-wise starting from "the next morning..." if that sort of thing bothers you.

            It's a Monday afternoon and Steve's had meetings with potential buyers all day, so he's wearing his nice suit when he comes home and finds her idly singing the drinking songs they sang in the war to baby James as she cooks macaroni and cheese for dinner.

            "You sound lovely," he says, grinning from the doorway, "But is that really what we want James to babble about?"

            Peggy turns as if on a dime to face him, laughter bubbling in her chest, "It could be worse," she shrugs.

            "I suppose it could,"

            "Besides, you're earlier than expected. Good day?"

            "Grueling," he grimaces, "You know selling is my least favorite part."

            "I do," she hums with a nod, "But we've got to buy baby food somehow."

            He tilts his head in acquiescence, "In any case. They bought and I even got a commission out of it."

            "Darling that's wonderful! We should celebrate tonight." She pulls him into a hug, her head resting against the top of his and James tucked snugly between them. Her husband is small, and to many he probably looks frail. But not to her--she supposes he might have back when they met for the very first time, lined up with the other boys who were raised on push-up drills and football and all that. She knows the truth though: That he is far stronger than the rest of them combined, where it counts. Stronger in his loyalty, in his character, in his kindness and love. 

            "Should we now?" He raises an eyebrow jokingly, tilting his head up to kiss her. She kisses him lightly in return, but when he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, she taps her hand against his chest and pulls away.

            "I ought to go check on supper." She swallows thickly.

            "Here," he replies, reaching to take James from her, "I'll hold on to our little boy while you do."

 

            Once they've put James down for the night they have sex. It's not that Peggy doesn't want to. She _does_ , and she knows that Steve would never push her into anything she didn't want, much less this. And she would never let him if he tried. But while she wants this, while she initiates it...she'd be lying if she said she wanted it for herself. There's a small part of her mind that sardonically whispers _lie back and think of England_ , which is preposterous. She isn't doing this for England, or America, or to have more children--She's doing this for Steve. Because she knows how happy he is when they're together, how he always feels emotionally closer to her as they lie curled up afterwards. She tries to feel that closeness. Every time, she tries. But far from feeling the in-the-moment connection to her partner that Steve always talks of in hushed tones, his voice caressing her ear, she feels detached. Sex is enjoyable enough, she supposes. It's certainly never caused her discomfort the way her mother told her it would, but it feels as if it's happening to someone who isn't really her. She wishes this weren't the case--Steve is so sweet, so good to her, and she loves him so much and she just wishes....she just wishes she could feel about this the way he does, she supposes.

 

            The next morning Steve insists on staying home. He's got plenty of time before that new commission is due, and with his work gaining notoriety he can afford a half-day off. Besides, he enquires, when was the last time Peggy got a morning to herself? He'll have some nice father-son time with James and she can get out of the house for something besides the usually perfunctory errand runs she makes. So Peggy dresses up a little more than usual, wears again the clothes she used to wear to work: stockings and a pleated brown skirt, a white blouse, her hair tucked into a distinctive red portrait hat and her blue peacoat shielding her from the cold.

 

            She takes the train into Manhattan, wandering through her favorite museums for a few hours and deciding to find something to eat before she returns to their strange little world in Queens, with near-identical houses all lined up in an eerily peaceful row. Perhaps it is merely that she spent too long at war but there is something about the quiet, aggressively perfect block that distresses her. She's done enough spying herself to know when something feels false. In any case she stops by a diner on the way to the train station: the L&L Automat. It's the kind of place she would have eaten at after work, back when she worked in the city, and she choses it out of a sense of nostalgia for a time too recent to be nostalgic. Ah well. She has aged more in the last year and a half than the time-frame seems to warrant.

 

            She sits at the counter and the waitress approaches with a pot of coffee, despite it being nearly 12:30 in the afternoon.  Diner coffee is ubiquitous and cares not for time of day, but it is of no interest to Peggy.

            "What can I get you, hon?" The waitress drawls. She looks to be a few years younger than Peggy, her hair in light brown curls pinned away from her face and a mint-and-dandelion colored cap similarly adhered to the top of head. There is a spark in her eyes that Peggy is instantly aware of, like the whole world is some secret joke and she knows the secret.

            "Have you got earl grey tea?" Peggy responds after a pause slightly too long to be appropriate.

            Upon hearing her voice the waitress grins, "Why sure thing English. You're a long way from home."

            "Oh not hardly," Peggy smiles, "I live in Queens." after a beat she adds, "Could I get the house sandwich with that, please."

            "Of course," the waitress replies, slipping back into the undoubtedly tedious script of serving a customer, "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

            "No thank you," Peggy pauses to read the nametag adhered her uniform, "Angie. No thank you, Angie."

            At this Angie beams, as if it's a rare treat to actually hear her name during the day. Peggy supposes it probably is--very few people pay any particular attention to their wait staff. "Sure thing, sugar." With that she closes her notepad and turns back to the kitchen, presumably to report Peggy's order.

           

            Everything about that lunch should be incidental but somehow, none of it is. Because of Angie. When she returns with Peggy's order, they continue to talk, and despite the lunch rush Angie wanders by every now and then with no apparent goal other than conversation. Peggy is often reluctant to open up to new people. Or even ones she's known for quite awhile, actually, but she finds herself drawn to Angie in some way. Her vivacity is surprisingly sincere, as is her curiosity. And Peggy learns as much as she reveals--that Angie is an aspiring Broadway actress, that she's lived in New York all her life and in fact never ventured beyond the sprawling confines of the city. When it's time for her to catch her train she leaves a generous tip and finds herself smiling all the way home.

           

            The next day Steve is at his studio painting and it's just Peggy and James in the house again. If you asked her two days ago, Peggy would not have described herself as lonely. But today she found herself longing for someone else to talk to. She spends lots of time talking to James but he is still only babbling and she...well, other than Steve she doesn't have many friends. She'd tried, when James was a newborn, to connect to the other mothers on the block but she found that other than a similarity in situation she didn't have much in common with them. Surely, they were good people, but they were enveloped in a social dynamic completely alien to her. Her service in the SSR, her even having a job once the war was over, was apparently similarly alien to them. So she is alone. And she wouldn't have noticed except that while James is taking his mid-morning nap she finds herself murmuring aloud while cooking, and craving the easy (if invasive) chatter she shared with the waitress the day prior. When James awakes, she picks him up and looks into his big eyes.

            "James," she enquires as if he could answer, "Would you like to go out today?"

            "Gah!" James exclaims. She smiles softly in response.

 

 

 


	3. There's no one else who needs to know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's commented/bookmarked etc. Y'all are the best :) Played around a little bit with Peggy's backstory and levels of personal fame in this one but otherwise no really notable deviations from character canon. Aside from the whole, 'I've pretty much mucked everything canon up with this AU premise' part.

She returns to the automat, though she realizes as she does so that she hasn't got a clue if Angie's working or not. She feels a bit guilty and a bit stupid--dragging her young son into the city on a half-thought impulse. But when she walks in the door Angie immediately greets her with a grin.

            "English!" she exclaims, "Who's this young gentleman you've got with you?"

            "This is my son James," Peggy responds, asking quietly as she sits down, Angie by her side with menus,  "You remember me?"

            "Why of course, it was only yesterday you were in here wasn't it?" Angie's brow furls in confusion, as if she of course remembers all her costumers from day-to-day. And Peggy would not be surprised if she did--Angie is certainly observant. Peggy has noticed because in another life she was a literal spy and her instincts have trouble forgetting it, and right now she feels more acutely than ever that the war was _a lifetime ago_ , as opposed to a few short years. That she was another person then. And the life she has now--she isn't sure if it is a better life, a worse life, or simply a more mundane life. But the incongruity between who she once was and who she is makes her feel uncomfortable, and makes meeting someone like Angie, who seems so interested in getting to know her, kind of challenging. She's not sure she's knowable.

            "English?" Angie's concerned tone causes her to realize she's completely drifted into her own thoughts.

            "Sorry, yes?"

            "Shall I grab a highchair for little James then?"

            "Please. That would be lovely, Angie."

            Angie beams in response, "I'll be right back to take your order then."

 

            When she returns, highchair in tow, she actually sits in the booth across from Peggy to make faces at James, who seems to think this is a riot. He giggles, waving his little fingers at her.

            "You're quite good with children," Peggy remarks, swallowing a surge of emotion she cannot quite name and doesn't care to examine.

            "Ah you know, so many younger siblings. And the older ones are all grown giving me a bushel of little nieces and nephews. So I've always been around kids, I guess. We don't get many here in the diner though so this little boy has quite brightened my day."

            Peggy hums in response, "I never spent much time with children, until James came around."

            "We haven't got any baby food but we do serve apple sauce, if he'd like some?"

            "I think that would be lovely. I'll have an earl..."

            "Grey tea and a house sandwich?" Angie interrupts, raising an eyebrow at her.

            "Yes please," Peggy responds with a smile, thinking that perhaps Angie thought of her after all--surely, she doesn't remember everyone's order.

            "You strike me as a woman of consistency." Angie winks at her as she stands from the booth with an unconscious grace.

 

            When she arrives with their food she sits down again. "I'm on my break," she explains. "Mind if I feed him? Let you eat?"

            "Not at all." Peggy bites into her sandwich as Angie scoops some applesauce on to a small spoon, flying it through the air to James' open mouth as if it were a plane. James giggles and reaches for the spoon, causing Angie to giggle in return.

            "You know English," she says hesitantly, refilling the spoon to give James another bite, "I never caught your name."

            "Peggy. Well, Margret actually, but I've never been terribly fond of it."

            "Well Peggy what did you do before James was born?" It's an unusual--and honestly probably rude--question, but Peggy doesn't so much as skip a beat.

            "I served in the SSR."

            "The SSR?"

            "Strategic Scientific Reserve. I was recruited from the British military."

            "Wait a minute," Angie's eyes narrow, "I remember seeing a newsreel about you and the 107th. You," she points a finger accusingly, "You're Miss Union Jack."

            Peggy laughs, "I never was terribly fond of that name."

            Angie's eyes are wide, "You're famous. The woman in the war."

            "I was far from the only woman in the war. I was just the one they happened to make a few newsreels of." Peggy snaps and Angie looks up at her sudden change in tone.

            "Sorry," she says, placating, "It must be annoying, people recognizing you and everything. I'm sorry."

            "Actually," Peggy says, "You're the first person to recognize me since I got married.

            "Really?"

            "Yes, it seems most have successfully forgotten as much as they can about the war." Peggy sighs, and Angie must pick up something in her tone--wistfulness or bitterness or maybe even guilt.

            "But not you." It isn't a question. "Peg? I can't forget the war either."

            "No?" Peggy arches an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

            "Course not. None of my brothers could find work. No one came by my pop's shop for years, 'cept for the other..." She trails off.

            "The other?" Peggy prompts, even though she's fairly confident of the answer.

            "The other Italian immigrants. My folks came here through Ellis before I was born."

            "It is a shame," Peggy says after a moment, "That so many people were hurt by the war who were not a part of it."

            "And that so many were hurt who were." Angie responds.

 

            When Peggy leaves a tip this time, after Angie has returned to work and James has either eaten or spilt most of his applesauce, she also leaves a note:

            _Angie_ , she writes, _I know this is peculiar but none of our interactions have been terribly ordinary to begin with. I have greatly enjoyed your company and our conversations over the last couple of days and I'd very much like to spend time with you again, should you be willing. I'm not great at making friends--haven't quite got used to not being in mortal danger, I suppose--but I would be glad to befriend you. I've left my phone number._

_Thanks,_

_Peggy (English)_

She feels nervous leaving it, almost shaky, and the irony of that is uncomfortable to her. She's been through battles far more terrifying, and far more literal, than this. This is barely a risk at all, it only feels like such a large one that Peggy doesn't know what to make of it, doesn't understand quite how she's feeling.

 

            Her risk pays off. Angie calls her the next morning and they talk for half an hour or so before she goes in to work. It's nice and easy and quickly becomes routine--Angie calling her from her boarding house in the morning or afternoon before her shift starts. They talk and laugh together in a way that is both unexpected and exactly what Peggy wanted when she left the note at the diner. On Monday Angie has her day off and she asks if Peggy and James have ever been to Little Italy and if they'd like to meet her there. Peggy answers, "No" and "Yes" respectively and prepares herself and James for a day out. Together the three of them wind through the busy street market, full of sights and sounds and colors and the delectable scent of food cooking, simmering low and slow with basil and bay and onion and old-world secret family recipes. They stop by Angie's dad's shop and Peggy buys the fixings, per Angie, of the best damn pasta dish this side of the Alps. It's a colorful bustling place, full of people who recognize each other on sight and, if they don't, act as if they do--for better or for worse. Peggy finds it simultaneously refreshing and exhausting, and when James gets tired and it's time to return home Peggy surprises herself by asking Angie to join them for dinner.

            "How else will I make sure I make this pasta right?" She asks, smiling broadly, "I need your expertise." Angie laughs, a deep, genuine, rolling sound that Peggy finds instantly addicting.

            "What about your husband?" She asks, once she's caught her breath.

            "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to meet you."

            "And the neighbors? What will they say?"

            "Oh sod the neighbors. Not like they ought to care"

            "My Peg, how scandalous." Angie is sarcastic, and Peggy just rolls her eyes.

 

            On the train back to Queens Peggy sits, holding James--now barely awake--against her chest. Angie, at her own insistence, holds their bag of groceries, and Peggy marvels at how much she trusts this woman she only met barely a week ago. It's completely unusual for her. Sure, she was drawn to Steve when she met him. He was an anomaly in an army full of boys too big and brawny and cocky. Steve was small and really quite weak, to be frank, but she saw determination the first time she met him that she hasn't seen since. It wasn't, as with many, the determination to prove himself. He's never much cared what other people thought of him--just one of the many things they have in common--and he was always willing to put someone else's safety in front of his own, even if that person was a monumental ass. He was brave. He was fighting for something bigger. And God help them all he still is, painting in his studio. Peace. Freedom. Some days she wonders if he's really just the human manifestation of the American constitution. Anyway, she didn't trust him when she met him. Their first interactions were stilted and a little awkward. She was his superior, and even if she weren't, he'd had a crush and no idea how to deal with it.

 

            With Angie, in contrast, everything is so smooth. She feels she's known her for so much longer than she actually has, what with Angie's tendency to talk--she learnt all about the little landmarks of her childhood. The neighbors who were friendly and the storekeepers who were strict. She has been given a private tour of Angie's world, and she hasn't got a clue what she did to deserve such...intimacy, so soon after meeting her. In fairness to herself she has always been a superb listener, and with Angie being so talkative they compliment each other well. But there's something else drawing them together, and it scares Peggy because she's never felt it before. Perhaps this is what people feel when they meet their best friend. She'll have to ask Steve sometime if this is how he felt with Bucky. It will need to be a careful conversation, given the loss he feels for his friend, but perhaps talking about Sargent Barnes will help them both.

 

            Once they reach the house Peggy guides Angie to the kitchen before putting James down for his nap. He's sleeping unusually soundly, but that's to be expected: He had a very big adventure for a very little boy. When she rejoins Angie in the kitchen she finds Angie's laid out all their ingredients and is stretching to grab the large pot from its shelf over the stove. She's on her tiptoes with her arm above her head, her back curved into an arc, and Peggy thinks not for the first time that her friend is beautiful. Probably too short for the task at hand, but simply breathtaking. In order to prevent her from breaking anything Peggy steps up behind her, alerting her to her presence with a hand resting lightly on her hip.

            "Here," she says, and her voice suddenly feels caught in her chest, sounds too throaty to her ears, "Let me get that"

            Angie turns to face her and they're so close, Angie's back against the counter, and Peggy can feel her breath, see her eyes so much closer than she has before. It's distracting and confusing--she feels too warm and a little dizzy so she steps back before noticing the flush on Angie's face.

            "Peg..." She begins to say as Peggy sets the pot on the stove,

            "Yes?" Peggy looks up from what she's doing.

            "Oh it's nothing. Just um, we need to put water in that first."

            "Right," Peggy laughs haltingly, "Of course."

            They cook together largely without incident, but Peggy is so aware of how close they are together in the narrow kitchen. Aware of Angie's hand brushing over hers when she goes to grab a wooden spoon from the jar on the counter. Aware of her moving behind her back as they chop herbs and vegetables. It seems like every nerve in her skin is suddenly attuned to how far away Angie is, like her whole body is humming in anticipation. Anticipation for what, she isn't sure.

 

            James reawakens as the sauce simmers--it's hours before dinner yet, but Angie's assured her the best food takes forever to cook. Told her about her Ma and the pot of soup she kept on the stove, "For weeks Peggy I swear. We'd each get a bowl for lunch and then after dinner she'd toss whatever we had left in--bones, vegetable greens, the odd tomato. It never tasted the same way twice and we never went hungry". In return Peggy explained that all the food she had growing up was, for the most part, uniformly tasteless and bland, but sometimes that could be quite comforting. Anyway when James awakes Peggy brings down a blanket to lay on the floor and she and Angie sit on their knees like schoolchildren while James attempts to crawl around. He's nearly got it down and Angie cheers him on with particular enthusiasm.

            "That's it James," She'll say, "You're a natural. You'll be running marathons in no time. Now go get your mama. You're doing great!" It's astonishing to Peggy how singular Angie's focus is on her son. How her eyes brighten when she smiles at him, and it makes her happy and sad at the same time. Happy, because she's so glad the three of them are together, so glad she's found another person in the vastness of the world to genuinely enjoy being around James the way she and Steve do, even though he's still only a baby. And sad because she can't help but feel that Angie is better suited to her life as a mother, as a _housewife_ \--as much as she despises the term--than she is.

            "Well well James," Peggy's thoughts are interrupted when James manages to crawl back to her, "That's some fine locomotion you've got going on." She scoops him up and supports his back so that he's standing on her thighs. "I'm not sure if your auntie Angie is right about marathons but I do suspect you'll be walking well before I'm ready for it."

            "Auntie Angie?" Angie's eyes light up, "I rather like that."

            Peggy swallows again, affection bubbling in her chest, "So do I."

            "We should..." Angie trails off, looking at the linoleum tile beneath them, tracing the floral-esque brown designs with her fingertips.

            "Yes?" Peggy prompts.

            "Well I was just thinking, if I'm going to be Auntie Angie, that we should do this each week. If you want to, of course. I usually don't have auditions on Mondays and when I do they're always in the evenings so we could explore and get dinner like we're doing today and..."

            "I think that's a fine idea," Peggy cuts off her nervous rambling with a smile.

            "Good," Angie looks up at her, returning her grin, "good good." Just then Steve's keys click in the door.

            "Peggy?" He calls from the front hallway.

            "In the kitchen!" She calls back, standing up as Angie does the same. She feels oddly interrupted and guilty but she doesn't know why. "Steve," she says as he walks in the door, "This is my friend Angie. Angie, my husband Steve."

            They look each other up and down, assessing. "Well," Angie is the first to speak, "I see where James gets his gorgeous eyes from."

            At this Steve laughs, "Ah but he's got his mother's hair and, thank god, her hearty disposition."

            "So he does." Angie smiles, looking at Peggy, "We were just making dinner. I'm teaching Peg to make a proper Italian pasta with sauce."

            "Oh wonderful!" Steve exclaims moving to the stove to smell the bubbling concoction, "I haven't smelled sauce so good since I was growing up in Brooklyn."

            "Ah, you're a resident New Yorker too then?"

            "I am, born and raised."  Conversation flows easily from there, and Peggy mostly just observes: both Angie and Steve are both so good with people, so outgoing and bold. Peggy is not, never has been really, but it makes joy well up in the pit of her stomach to see them get along so well. Her two closest confidantes.

 

            The pasta is, as predicted, delicious. After dinner Angie insists she must be going--it is beginning to get dark, after all, and her landlady has a hilariously strict curfew. Angie imitates her and her bizarre moral code to incredible comic effect--taking some artistic license, Peggy assumes. Or hopes, at least, and they all have a good laugh before Peggy sees her to the door.

            "Bye Peg," Angie says, standing across from her, fidgeting as if unsure what to do with herself. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

            "Please," Peggy is quick to reassure, "I look forward to it."

            "So do I," Angie says softly, staring at her for a moment longer before moving forward to wrap her in a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispers, "For today."

            Slowly Peggy brings her arms up to return the embrace, "Thank _you_ ," she replies, before releasing her. She watches from her doorway as Angie walks into the chill of the evening, turning around briefly to smile back in her direction and wave. Laughing lightly at how ridiculous they're being Peggy waves back, sees Angie grin broadly before continuing down the street.

 

            Steve finds her, still leaning against the doorframe, well after Angie has disappeared from sight. He's resting James on his hip as he comes up behind her.

            "She's a swell gal, Peg," he says, his voice startling her from her thoughts.

            "Yes," Peggy agrees, "I think so as well."

            "I'm glad you've made a friend," he continues, "I know you've been lonely since James...well I mean, it's not like you really had any _friends_ at work but at least you were around people each day, you know? I worry about you being all alone."

            "Oh like you're any better," she responds dryly, "holed up in your studio all day."

            "True, " he says, tilting his head, "But folks do wander in and out and I run into people all the time on the subway and..."

            "All right point taken. The life of a mother is an oddly solitary one."

            "Seems like. So I'm real glad you've found a friend." She nods, and he moves past her to put James to bed.


	4. Watching the Clock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo there's a lot of minor detail on car seats and cars and actually wages in pre-war America in this chapter and as bizarre as, for instance, the car seat sounds I did in fact look all this stuff up so it is fairly accurate. Also I learnt while writing this that I know jack shit about early childhood development so I checked to make sure that James would still be breastfeeding, which it turns out is not easy information to find on the 1950s, but I did my best. And discovered that children breastfeed, on average, for WAY longer than I thought.   
> The thing that I fudged the most, tbh, is the reference to Peggy Lee's recording of "Fever", which wasn't released until 1959 while this story takes place somewhere between 1949 and 1952. Which: note on ages, because it comes up. I think in canon Peggy was 20 when she joined the military at the beginning of the war--for a variety of reasons I tend to knock that back to 19. So in this she's 29-30 and I've made Angie about three years younger, so she's 26-27.   
> Okay so that's it for my history nerding this chapter: enjoy!

         Over the next few months, Angie and Peggy take James all over New York. Peggy's well acquainted with all corners of the city--that's what happens when you're a spy, after all--but there's something completely refreshing about being led around by Angie. She is a humorous, inventive tour guide and they find themselves in all sorts of places that are, Peggy comes to realize, an integral part of Angie's personal history. Peggy wishes there was some way to let Angie in to her history the way Angie has let her in so seamlessly. But she's at a complete loss as to how to do that. Her childhood is across the Atlantic Ocean, in a largely abandoned but summarily well-kept manor house, a small local village, and of course a boarding school. In the course of their adventures they eat with Steve regularly, and seeing Angie and Steve together causes Peggy to realize there is somewhere she can take her friend, after all.

 

            So one Monday she calls Angie and tells her to wear clothes she won't mind getting muddy and meet Peggy at hers. She's nervous, which is ridiculous--it's just a picnic, after all. It feels to her like so much more, and in a way it is. She knows she's not the most naturally forthcoming person and this is her way of trying. Not, not trying to be forthcoming, exactly. That she does in a million little ways whenever she and Angie talk. She's trying to be show Angie the same depth of trust Angie has shown her ever since their first trip to Little Italy.

 

            She packs a picnic lunch of sandwiches and lemonade and wishes, oddly, that she could pack wine. She cannot, because she'll have James with her and though he eats semi-solid foods once in a while she does still breastfeed him in any case. It's strange: She hasn't had alcohol in easily two years, not since she learnt she was pregnant, and she hasn't much missed it. But there's something about the idea of drinking wine from the bottle out in a field with just her and Angie and no one else around that thrills her. It's an idea that makes her feel young again just for having.

 

            The cooler she's packed gets set in the car Steve got when they returned from the war.  Sometimes, when they were engaged and just recently home, she'd find him sitting in it, crying. She thought perhaps he was out in the garage because he wanted some space and that she understood: Everyone needs to be alone with their pain, sometimes. But upon carefully enquiring, she learns that the car was once Bucky's. His mother had left it to Steve when she passed, only three months after the war ended. It is one of the few things Steve has left of growing up with his friend. He doesn't use it much, though both of them are excellent drivers. Parking in the city just isn't worth it and likely never will be, and besides it's harder to get around the suburbs on public transit than it is to get into the city. So Peggy takes it on errand runs and feels a little ridiculous doing so: It's a 1936 Chevy Coach, so remarkably responsible for a teenage boy to save nearly five hundred dollars (over four months wages, for a part-time carpenter) working in the shipyards to buy, but now with increasingly cheap cars becoming available in the postwar economy it stands out, fifteen years old and pristinely well-cared for. It's black, thank god. Steve tells her Bucky once said his favorite color was red and she's just glad not to be driving a veritable fire hydrant to buy groceries. Anyway, she has a car seat to keep James still and able to see out the window. It's metal bars wrap over the back of the seat to hold it loosely in place, but she's glad she can set him next to her in the front. She's terrified that if she turns too quickly he'll go sliding right out of the window.

 

            It's well into September, so there's a nip in the air and the leaves are starting to change but the sky is clear and Peggy is sure it'll be a beautiful day. When Angie arrives she and James are already appropriately bundled, and they lead Angie out to the car.

            "Oh sweet mother of Mary," Angie exclaims, "It's the same model as the first one I worked on."

            "You work on cars?" Peggy is amused but not terribly surprised--this is Angie, after all.

            "You betcha I have, English. My oldest brother opened his own garage when I was eleven. I loved it there. Smelled of grease and all the tools laid out on the bench in perfect order and no Ma to bother me about messing up my skirts or Pop to badger me about how I was sposed to be learning to sew like my Ma. Eventually I was underfoot so much I knew more than the new boys they'd hire, so my brother'd let me throw on a pair of coveralls make 'em run like new."

            "1936," Peggy does some quick math in her head as they get settled in the car, "You must have been what, thirteen?"

            "Yeah."

            "When I was thirteen I'd sneak out of my dorm at boarding school. There was a lake a couple minutes walk away and I'd go swimming in the middle of the night. Look at all the stars." Peggy smiles at the memory.

            "All by yourself? Or was there some boy you met to stargaze with?" Angie teases. Peggy shoots her an appraising look before answering, backing out of the drive as she does so.  

            "No boy, no. There was, however, a girl in my year who used to join me. She taught me all the constellations." At this, Angie glances her way, just looks, and Peggy feels her stomach clench when Angie slowly smiles before turning away and changing the topic.

            "So where are we going then?" She asks, as Peggy drives them through suburbia.

            "Upstate." She replies, intentionally vague.

            "Upstate?" Angie, of course, isn't about to let the clear omission of information slide.

            "A surprise. You'll see."

            "All right then," Angie relents surprisingly easily, rolling down her window and feeling the breeze run through her hair.

           

            The car ride passes in comfortable relative silence. They converse with James a little, mostly complete nonsense in the rhythm of conversation. At some point Angie turns on the radio, biting her lip until she finds a song she likes, before settling back in her seat and softly singing along. It's a slow, melodic, rolling piece Peggy hasn't heard before. The song's about a girl in love in summertime, as so many are, and as Peggy listens to Angie sing it she has to force herself to keep her eyes on the road. Her voice is beautiful. She is beautiful. Her beautiful friend, her Angie. She tries to shake the idea of Angie as _hers_ from her mind. She cannot be so possessive of someone she has no claim to. None at all--she is not her sister, her mother, her lover. She cannot call Angie her own.

            As the song ends she clears her throat, says, "That was lovely, Angie." She tries to keep her tone light, but there's a gravelly quality she can't entirely get rid of.

            "Thanks Peg," Angie's tone is soft. And she returns to humming and playing with James' toes and talking idly about music and auditions and the girls she lives with at the boardinghouse and a million little things that should be mundane but somehow Peggy could not be more enraptured if she were watching her favorite play, listening to her favorite poem.

 

            Finally they reach their exit and Peggy gets off the highway, drives through near-deserted country roads until they reach their destination. The tall chain-link gate is imposing still, but it's swung open and beginning to be overgrown with grass and weeds at the bottom. It hasn't been shut in a few years. Peggy parks the car just outside it and they all get out. When Angie reads the sign, when she sees the army crest, she turns towards Peggy.

            "Peg?" She asks, slowly, "What is this place?"

            "This, my dear," Peggy replies, "Is Camp Lehigh. It's where Steve and I met."

            "Are we allowed in?" Angie looks nervous.

            "Of course. It's been abandoned since the war ended. They haven't got to train boatloads of new soldiers any more so they've restricted their number of training sites and this one got shut. I think the army still owns it, just in case, but it's been left to farrow for a few years now. Come on," Peggy strides confidently through the familiar gates, "I want to show you something."

            "All right..." Angie sounds hesitant.

            "Ange," Peggy stops and turns towards her, "There's no need to be nervous I assure you. No one's out here to tell us where we ought not be and even if they were I do technically still have rank I can pull. There's nothing to worry about."

            "I trust ya Peg, I've just never been in a military camp before." Angie's looking a little more reassured but Peggy shifts James up to her shoulder so she can hold him and the picnic basket in the same hand, extending her now-free hand towards Angie.

            "Come," She repeats, softer this time, "I'll show you."

            "All right," Angie smiles, interlacing her fingers with Peggy's, "But I'm carrying that basket. This--" she tilts her head towards Peggy's side, looking her up and down, "--is just ridiculous."

 

            On their way, Peggy points out her old quarters, the building where Steve stayed, the training grounds, the administrative buildings, and the mess hall. All these, however, are side attractions. Finally they climb a steep hill and Peggy takes the basket back from Angie to set it down beneath a tree, spreading out a picnic blanket. The hill most directly overlooks the track, but you can see all of the old camp from it, the buildings looking like museum models in the distance. Everything is miniature and bathed in the golden fall light and Angie turns to Peggy with a smile.

            "Wow," she says, still out of breath, "You know about halfway up that hill I did start to doubt you, Pegs, but god almighty this is worth it."

            "I'm glad you think so," Peggy's sedate tone belays the summersaults her stomach is doing: anxious-proud-anxious-proud-happy-anxious.

            "Did you ever take Steve here?" Angie asks as she sits down next to Peggy and James on the blanket.

            "No, he was under my direct command. It would have been terribly inappropriate." Peggy scoffs at the idea.

            "But weren't you even tempted to break decorum?" Angie seems shocked by her answer

            "Not...really, no. I knew he was a good person when I met him. And I saw that he worked hard and was then the same fierce idealist he is today. But he was awkward and didn't know how to speak to me and really in some way a boy still, when we met."

            "So you only were interested in him once he matured?" Angie asks as they unwrap their sandwiches and Peggy pours the lemonade one-handed, James settled in her lap.

            "Yes, but I don't think that's it, not really. I think...what drew me to Steve was how deeply I trust him. And that trust was built when we were deployed. Steve was no longer technically in my unit, though I was and am still his superior officer, but we fought together, and when the battles were done we cleaned them up together, and mourned together, and.....It was unspeakably hard, being a woman in an army full of scared boys. Steve was one of the few who never challenged my authority and always had my back." When she finishes speaking Peggy glances over toward Angie, coming back from the far-away time and further-away place her mind had drifted. Angie nods thoughtfully, chewing her sandwich.

            "That's sweet," she finally replies, "But not exactly the stuff of romance novels, is it?"

            Peggy laughs in reply, "Life rarely is," to which Angie smiles slightly, shaking her head.

            "I mean no, it isn't. It's not like I expect to fall in love at first sight or any of that nonsense but also shouldn't it be? Shouldn't you get to feel those crazy butterflies and that urge to be in someone's life _always_ and that ache to just be closer to them?"

            "Well I don't know if I should, Ange, but I never felt that way about Steve, if that's what you're asking." Peggy raises an eyebrow as she sips her lemonade.

            "I suppose it's just...the two of you seem so happy, you know?" Angie elaborates, "Like it seems when I'm with you that you've got a real nice marriage but you never...you never talk about Steve the way my sisters did their husbands when they were gettin' married, or the way my ma did when she was telling stories about my pop courting her or nothing. And I thought that maybe that's cause you're a pretty private person but I'm just kind of thrown that you can be so happy with someone without, without that..."

            "I don't know what to tell you Angie," Peggy is growing terse, and it slips into her tone, "Steve is my best friend, why shouldn't I be happy with him?"

            "I'm sorry," Angie says, quietly, "I didn't mean to upset ya. Just, just tell me, do you love him?"

            "Yes," Peggy says without hesitation, then looking into Angie's eyes, at the open emotion they hold, she stumbles as she repeats herself, "Yes...I, I do."

            Angie swallows thickly, "Good then," she replies "I'm glad, elsewise I'd have to kick him out for you." She's trying to lighten the mood and Peggy appreciates it. "It's my sacred duty as your friend."

            "Well I'm glad there's no need for that" Peggy smiles, "I'd hate to see you try."

            "Seriously?" Angie is incredulous, "He's tiny, Peg. I lift dishes around on trays all day at the diner--I'm sure I've got more muscle than he does and I definitely have more _mass_."

            "Oh I don't doubt that," Peggy laughs openly as Angie flexes her arms to show off the previously mentioned muscle, "But don't underestimate him. He's quite skilled in hand-to-hand combat. And he's been fighting people bigger and stronger than him all his life."

            "All right fine," Angie is mock-petulant.

            Before Peggy can respond James starts fussing and she turns to him instead, swallowing whatever she was about to say to Angie. And if she's honest, she's kind of relieved as she scoops up her son that he interrupted when he did, because she's not sure what she was about to say. How she was going to react to the sight of her friend's beautifully full lips pretending to pout, the smile beneath evident in her eyes.

            "Why James," She says instead, "You're quite correct, Mommy was busy talking with your Auntie here and forgot that you need lunch too, huh little boy?" James continues fussing, which only serves to confirm Peggy's statement. "Angie," she turns back to her friend, "Could you hold him for a minute?"

            "Of course Peg," Angie takes him and stands him up on her crossed legs, bouncing him slightly and making her funny faces at him. He doesn't stop fussing, but he does quiet down a little, clearly taken with her. Meanwhile Peggy undoes the buttons on the top of her dress, pulling it down slightly to one side before similarly pulling the soft cotton cup of her bra down.

            "All right," She finally says, "Pass him here." It is not the first time she's fed James in front of Angie. And really, there should be no impropriety in it--they are both women, after all. It's nothing Angie hasn't seen before. Nevertheless Peggy notices a distinct flush on Angie's cheeks as she hands James back over, and while he feeds happily Angie is careful not to let her gaze wander in Peggy's direction. The continue conversing as they usually do--about nothing and everything at once, somehow, joking and happy--but it's stilted. It's interrupted by the way Angie studies the skyline, the ground, her nearly-empty glass of lemonade, anything but Peggy.

            "Angie," Peggy finally says, "Is everything all right?"

            "Sure," she tries to laugh and fails, "Everything's fine, Peg."

            "You can look at me, you know?" Peggy pries, slightly, and is aware that she's prying, but she's worried. Worried that somehow, without quite realizing it, she's offended or hurt Angie. And thought is so abhorrent to her she must know, she must make right whatever it is...

            "No Pegs," Angie finally gasps, "No, I can't. I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." She swallows again before standing up and walking a ways down the hill, leaving Peggy perplexed.

 

            When James finishes feeding and has settled down for a nice post-lunch nap, Peggy rights her clothing and packs up the detritus of their picnic. She feels bittersweet, panicky, she wanted to make her friend happy, after all, but in this moment she's worried she can't do anything right. Once it's all squared away she picks James up again, resting his sleeping little body against her shoulder. She rubs circles softly on his back, as she would to soothe him, but it's her own mind in need of soothing today. Finally she stands, determined to find Angie.

 

            Angie is leaning against a tree, and she smiles weakly once she sees Peggy. "Hey Pegs," she says with a tired sigh. "Sorry about that."

            "Angie," Peggy is not buying her acting like everything's fine when they both know good and well it isn't. She crouches down next to her so their eyes are level, careful as she's doing so to keep James upright. She nearly loses her balance, muttering, "Oh _bullocks_ " before Angie leans over to help her right herself, both of them giggling softly at the absurdity of it all.

            "Bullocks? Really Peg?" She asks, faux-serious, "You couldn't be more English if you tried."

            "I couldn't" Peggy agrees, before pausing to catch her breath. "You really must tell me what's wrong."

            "I suppose you're right about that," Angie says thoughtfully, "But not today, okay Peg? You've brought us to this beautiful place and I...I just want to enjoy it with you. I've ruined our day enough already." And with that Peggy is finally able to identify the emotion that flickers across Angie's face.

            "What are you afraid of?" She asks softly, bringing one hand to cover Angie's as it rests over her knee, their foreheads close together.

            "Of me." Angie says with a breath, "That I'll...mess things up, I suppose, and lose you."

            "You won't lose me, Angie. You're my closest friend." Peggy's eyes show how deeply she means her words.

            "You don't know that." Angie's eyes are moist, and she brushes Peggy's cheek with her thumb, hand shaking. Peggy leans into the touch. "You can't know that."

            "I do know." Peggy maintains, pressing a kiss lightly into Angie's palm before sighing, "But you're right. We should just enjoy the rest of our day. We'll talk about this later, okay?"

            "Okay," Angie nods, still hesitant, "Okay."

 

            In the car on the way back it's almost as if they've gone back in time to the morning: Angie is singing softly to the radio, James is still asleep, they're talking quietly and laughing as if whatever strange moment happened between them in Camp Lehigh hadn't happened at all. They've had a good day, all told--when James awoke they lifted him high in the air and spun him in circles, much to his delight. They laughed and ran and pretended everything was _normal_ , the way they're doing now, except Peggy has not forgotten the look on Angie's face as she kissed her palm. Hasn't forgotten the fear and the longing she read there, though she hasn't a clue what it could mean. The song on the radio changes and Angie recognizes the tune instantly, her whole body straightening up.

            "Oh you'll love this one," she tells Peggy, "It's sung by a fellow Peggy."

            "Is it now?" Peggy asks, and at this Angie only smiles, nodding along to the intro before sliding into the song, singing with her whole body. Peggy's breath catches as Angie sings. And she realizes that _this_ , this song is the feeling Angie was talking of earlier, not some penny-dreadful nonsense, but this....fever. This desperation, this state of being attuned to another. And she nearly chokes on the twin realization that this is what she feels for Angie, what she felt when Angie turned, back against the counter, to tell her to fill the pasta pot with water. What she felt when Angie's hand was against her cheek, what she feels in all those little moments when she can't quite breathe right because Angie is so beautiful it's ethereal.

 

            When the song finishes, she's speechless. Which turns out to be fine, because Angie quickly transitions from singing back to talking, telling Peggy that the song is not actually by Peggy Lee but that's who sings her favorite version and it's what got her interested in singing R&B in the first place and she got to see her live once and man was it wonderful and....

            Peggy finally catches up to the conversation, "It's a beautiful song, Angie. You do it great justice."

            "You really think so?" Angie isn't fishing, she genuinely wants to know. She's been told the opposite so many times that when Peggy compliments her she needs to hear it more than once for it to feel true.

            "I do. If your heart weren't so set on acting I'd drive you to a recording studio right now." Angie laughs at that, and then launches into an explanation of how that's Not The Way Showbiz Works that leaves them both in stitches of laughter.


	5. She lies and says she's in love with him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops I totally forgot yesterday was Friday, sorry guys.   
> Thank you so much for all your comments--they really make me very happy. I've gotten pretty attached to this universe for these characters so I'm glad to see y'all enjoy it as well.   
> On that note: things get a bit weird in this chapter. And it became apparent to me in writing it what in editing is obvious throughout this fic--that I definitely imposed a number of my anxiety issues onto Peggy. So that's happened.   
> Oh and Happy Halloween--I hope you like this update and aren't tempted to murder me as it does end on a cliffhanger. I'll be sure to get the next one up on time :P

          They get back to Peggy's pretty late in the day, and she insists that Angie come inside and have dinner with her and Steve. Steve always cooks leftovers, she explains, they'll be more than enough for three. Or four, for that matter, which turns out to be fortunate because as soon as Peggy's inside she sees someone she never expected to be sitting in her living room.

            "Sargent Barnes," she says as she sets down her keys. She intends to say it calmly, as if no time had passed at all since the week before Steve came back to camp and reported that Bucky'd been _flung off a moving train into a crevasse_. Something in her voice must betray her, however, because Angie's hand is against the small of her back in an effort to reassure her, and as soon as she says, "It is so very good to see you again," Barnes sweeps her into a hug.

            "Peggy," he says, voice gruff, "You haven't changed one bit." Peggy laughs weakly in response.

            "I have Barnes," she replies, "I have a son."

            "I know. Steve was just telling me," he says, and there's something about the look that passes between him and her husband that makes her sincerely doubt that's all they discussed. But they have always had a sort of secret language between the two of them. Bucky now turns toward Angie, who's carried James in from the car. "This must be him here," he bends down to get a closer look at little James,

"What's his name Peg? Steve wouldn't tell me."

            "His name," her voice cracks slightly, completely overwhelmed by the overload of emotions she's felt today, "His name is James Carter Rogers."

            "James," He repeats softly, "James," he says again, looking closely at Steve. They all stand there for a moment in the entryway, all four of them caught in the multitude of questions that linger yet-unsaid between them.

 

            "Well, " Angie breaks the silence, "Would someone be so kind as to explain what in the devil's name is going on?" Peggy and Steve both laugh and even Bucky smiles in response.

            "Angie," Peggy finally says, "This is Sargent James Buchanan Barnes. He served with Steve and I in Europe and was presumed dead after he fell from a moving train into a frozen canyon. We had not been able to find his body after the fact but it was a war, after all, so we hadn't had much time to look. It remains to be seen how he managed to get here without so much as having called once in the past six years."

            "Ah," Angie opens her mouth as if to say something, shuts it, and promptly starts over, "Pleased to meet you James, I'm Peggy's friend Angie Martinelli." She extends her hand, and when Bucky turns to take it Peggy sees for the first time that his left arm has been replaced by an incredibly intricate and apparently functional metal replica.

           

            They get the full story over dinner, and as it turns out there's surprisingly little of it. "They found me in a Soviet prison camp," Bucky explains, "PoWs are supposed to be sent home when the war's over, but they had been experimenting on me and apparently didn't want their experiment to end. So they moved me out of the PoW camp and into the camp with their political enemies and rabblers. They tinkered with my arm, with my _brain_ , for years trying to make me...I don't know, a better solider? Their solider? I can't remember. When US army intelligence found me and brought me home they kept me locked up for a long time running their own tests. Making sure I wasn't a traitor, I guess. They finally let me go today, I looked you up in the phone book and here I am. Figured it'd be harder to explain on the phone."

            "Please stay," Steve speaks for the first time since they've gotten home, "Buck, please, let me take care of you like you used to me, when my parents died. Let me help you get back..." He trails off again, pushing his food around on his plate.

            "Peg?" Bucky's clearly asking her permission.

            "Of course sergeant. We've got a guest room. You may stay as long as you like."

            "All right then," Bucky nods, "I haven't got anywhere else to go."

 

            When Angie leaves after dinner she gives Peggy a tight hug on the doorstep. Steve and Bucky are getting the guest room ready and James is in his crib so it's a rare moment of just the two of them.

            "Are you all right?" Angie asks gently as she lets go of Peggy, "It must be quite a shock, seeing your old friend alive again."

            "It is I suppose," Peggy replies, "But a good one, overall. Barnes is a good man."

            "He seems it," Angie nods, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. "Peggy," she suddenly inquires, "Would, would you like to come dancing with me?"

            "Dancing?" Peggy asks, incredulous.

            "Yes. If it's all right with Steve of course, some friends from work are going down to a club that does waltzing and swing and all that old-style dance and I was wondering if you'd like to join me. I mean, join us." She's clearly nervous as Peggy gives it a moment's consideration. It would be nice to get out of role of "mother" for a while, she supposes, and she did always love dancing.

            "All right," she says, feeling like a high school girl agreeing to a date or something equally preposterous, "Call me with the details?"

            "Of course," Angie nods quickly, pausing before continuing, "Thank you for today, Peg. I know it's been odd and long but it's...been a real treat to see some place so...so important to you."

            "It was my pleasure Ange, honestly."

            "Well, goodnight." Angie quickly hugs her again before turning down the walk.

            "Goodnight," Peggy calls after her, "I'll talk to you tomorrow!" And Angie turns and smiles at her one last time before disappearing into the dark.

 

            It's odd, those first few days of having Barnes back. He hasn't found a job just yet and both Peggy and Steve quietly hope he doesn't, for a while at least. Returning home was hard for both of them, and at least they were still working within the apparatus of the army until VJ day. So they had a natural transition. But Bucky does not at all--he's come back from years of what they can only imagine is torture, to be subjected to similar things by his own government upon arriving home, and has mysterious technology in place of his arm to contend with as well. No one set up a way for him to transition softly back into civilian life. So Steve and Peggy try to, by giving him a home, and a semblance of family, and plenty of space.

 

            Peggy quickly learns that Bucky is completely enamored of his little "nephew" and all too happy to take him off Peggy's hands when she needs to buy groceries or fix the washing machine or what have you. It's a relief, really, to have someone in the house with her as the afternoons stretch long and listless, and she and Bucky talk of all manner of things. Except what happened to him after he went missing, actually. Since that first night they don't mention it at all.  Bucky soon gets caught up on Steve and Peggy's personal post-war history, or as caught up as he can get. Much of Peggy's work remains classified and likely always will.

 

            As Friday draws nearer it seems increasingly natural to leave James with Bucky and Steve for the night and go dancing as if she were young and single. Steve seems quite excited at the prospect, actually--says they'll have a "boys night in" and can maybe catch a show on the radio. Peggy finds herself smiling softly whenever she thinks of it: Barnes and Steve on the sofa, little James propped up between them, Steve laughing at something Bucky said and James laughing because his dad is. Her boys. So when the day finally arrives it is without hesitation that she dresses up--in the same red dress Steve took her dancing in after the war, with it's plunging silk neckline and three-quarter length sleeves. She's modified it a little since--expanded the skirt so that it twirls more, though she's kept it roughly knee length. And she's widened the belt she wears with it, to hide how much her waistline has changed in the past what, seven years? She lost a lot of weight during the war--active service will do that to you, especially in Russian winters, and so the dress was steadily taken in through the war and then let back out again as she got more reliable access to food. And then let out a little more after James was born.

 

            Despite what all the new diet ads popping up everywhere would have her think, she isn't ashamed of her waist, far from it. She thinks she's much more sexy now than she was back when she was starving on the Eastern front, that's for sure, and she's never resented the baby-weight she hasn't bothered to lose. It's reassuring, to have her body change along with her mind, to step into the role of "mother" and feel the stretch marks across her stomach with her fingertips, fading now into her skin, as a reminder that this is real. That her body brought this beautiful boy to life. But with all its alterations the dress itself has seen better days, which is why she's broadened the sash. Her seam-work is, after all, shoddy at best. Once the dress is on and decided to be suitable, she puts on her favorite lipstick, pulls out her matching kitten heals, and leaves to meet Angie at her boarding-house a picture in ruby red.

 

            She meets Angie in the lobby, and is quickly swept into a fierce hug. "Look at you," Angie murmurs in her ear, "Don't you clean up nice?"

            "I could say the same to you," Peggy whispers softly in reply, "You look stunning" God, does Angie ever look stunning. Peggy is almost dizzy with the sheer overwhelming sense that this woman before her is _beautiful_ , that she _wants her_ more than can possibly bode well for either of them, but she pushes those feelings as far aside as she can. Instead she intertwines her fingers with Angie's, allows herself to be lead first to the trolley and then to the dance hall. She feels almost like she's traveled in time. Like she's nineteen and newly enlisted again, not at all like her thirty-one years, like her husband and baby are waiting at home. Angie is _young_ , she thinks for the first time as she's pulled into the dance hall, hearing Angie shout across the room to some of her friends. But Angie isn't all that younger than she is, not really--the three years between them shouldn't make a difference at all but somehow they feel like they do, in that moment.

 

            Angie's friends are nowhere in evidence so with a glimmer in her eye she pulls Peggy to the dance floor. The first couple of songs are fast, and oh Peggy's missed this. Missed replacing the beat of her heart with the beat of the music and paying nothing any mind except the motion of her feet as she gets lost in the song. Fundamentally these songs are individual dances so while she and Angie are near each other and they sometimes interact, they don't much touch. That changes as the band starts a slower tune, a waltz. Peggy holds her hands out to Angie, expects them to lock themselves into the formal, distant frame she was taught in finishing school. But Angie, opting to lead, wraps an arm around her waist and pulls them close together, her head leaning against Peggy's as they slowly spin around the room as if in their own orbit. Peggy lets out a ragged breath, relaxing into the touch, focusing on the _nearness_ of Angie as the song drifts away from her consciousness until all that remains is Angie's hand against the small of her back, her breath soft against her neck, the smell of her shampoo and lotion. If she just tilted her head a fraction of an inch....

 

            The song ends, and the band quickly transitions back to a fast tune, leaving Peggy a little stunned, still in the middle of the dance floor. For a moment she and Angie just stand there, a little too close together to be proper, and then Angie spots her friends moving through the crowd and once more Peggy is pulled along behind her, breathless.

 

            Angie lets go of her hand to greet her friends warmly, to introduce them to Peggy, and Peggy finds herself running her hands down her skirt, smoothing it nervously. All of a sudden she feels horribly out of place. Like an imposter in this group of working women, women who will surely change the world or at minimum the American social order, while on the surface at least Peggy does nothing but re-enforce that women are mothers and the men go out and work and god she feels sick, feels like everything is rushing around her and she can't quite get a grip on it and...

            "Hey," Angie interrupts her tumultuous thoughts, "Hey Peg, come get some fresh air with me, okay?" Peggy just nods mutely, grateful for her friend noticing her distress but still incapable of speech. They sit out on a bench on the patio off the back of the dance hall in silence for several long moments, just out of sight of the revelers inside. Music wafts gently out the French doors behind them, and with it warm light and indistinct laughter.

            "Want to talk about it?" Angie finally asks. Peggy sighs deeply, her breath returning to its normal speed, her heartbeat slowing to a more manageable place.

            "I'm afraid," she says, barely louder than a whisper, "That I don't belong here, with you and your friends. And I feel guilty, for dragging you into my world, when I have no place in yours."

            "Oh Peg," In a rush Angie's hands are in her own, she's kneeling on the ground in front of her. "Peggy how could you say that? You will always have a place in my world." Peggy's eyes meet hers briefly before looking away.

            "I am a mother Angie. And a wife. I am...hardly the young woman you or your friends are and...I can't, can't pretend..."

            "Peggy," Angie interrupts her once again, gently drawing her face down so their eyes meet, "I don't want you to pretend anything at all." She pauses, worrying her lower lip with her teeth in thought, "You mean everything to me, Peggy. Can't you see that?" And she leans forward, her right hand still cupping Peggy's cheek as she kisses her softly but steadily.

 

            The first touch of her lips is completely intoxicating. Peggy's glad she's sitting down already or she's sure her knees would have given out beneath her as she melts into the kiss, parting her lips ever so slightly as she tangles her fingers in Angie's loose curls. She feels like she's falling, like she's jumping from a plane, like gravity has changed in the pit of her stomach and all her blood is rushing to her center in a crashing wave of desire. When they finally break apart Peggy knows that nothing will ever be the same again and she can't stand it, can't stand what she has to do but that doesn't change...

            "Angie," She finally gasps, "Angie," her breath is ragged, her pupils blown, and so are Angie's, both of them lost in a haze of each other, "I can't."

            "What?" Angie murmurs after a moment, not angry or indignant or even hurt, just...confused.

            "I can't." Peggy repeats, the lightness inside of her slowly being replaced with heavy dread. "I'm married."

            "I...I know." Angie's still looking lost, but a distinct desperation has begun to creep into her tone, "Peggy." She pauses, catches her breath, "Peggy, are you telling me you don't feel....I know you want me Pegs. The way I want you. The way we're, we're not supposed to want..." It's true and Peggy doesn't deny it. But she has to put a stop to this, before they both get hurt. Before Steve, the _good man_ she married gets hurt.

            "I love him." She says simply.

            "I know," Angie says again, "But are you in love with him?" Peggy's never considered the distinction but suddenly it seems so obvious, and she isn't sure she's ever been _in love_ with him, but that's not an option. He's her husband. She needs to be in love with him, and she needs to get out of there while she still can, before she's drawn back into Angie in ways that seem now as inevitable as they are unforgivable. So she gives Angie the easy answer. She lies.

            "Yes," She nearly chokes on the word. "I'm sorry Angie, please forgive me I'm so sorry." And with that she stands, walks quickly away from the bench and the dance hall and the woman who makes her feel more alive, more herself than anyone has before. She pretends not to notice the hurt on Angie's face, but her heart is breaking to pieces in her chest and she isn't sure she can live through this. All the terrors she's lived through, all the bombs and the freezing cold and the gunshots and the lack of food. All the scars on her body from grazing bullets and barbed wire and memorably, the two 9 mm handgun slugs they had to dig out of her shoulder in the field, and now she thinks she's dying, thinks she's been completely broken by what she feels for Angie. What she cannot feel for Steve.


	6. She loves him, she don't want to feel this way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp here we go. Time for LOTS AND LOTS OF INTROSPECTION   
> (and a nod to the social climate of the 50s that I couldn't help but include, even though some of the events mentioned occurred a bit later in the decade)   
> Thanks as always to all of you who've commented--I've been having a rough go of it lately and your words brighten my day :)   
> Oh AND: brief, non-descriptive mention of suicide w/ respect to a distant party in the paragraph beginning with, "There's a small part of her", if that's something you've got to skip. Shouldn't make to big of an impact going forward.

         Somehow, Peggy manages to make it home on the train without incident, just another passenger lost in the crowd. It's late. She actually just barely manages to catch the last bus to her neighborhood--she was planning to stay with Angie. Of course, she can't do that now. Numbly, she unlocks the door, finds the house quiet. They must all be asleep--Barnes, her son, Steve. And with that the magnitude of what she's done washes over her in a crashing wave of shame and regret and hopelessness and, most pressingly, loss. She knows she should be thinking about Steve now, should be guilty for dishonoring him like that, for kissing another person when she _strongly implied_ she would only be kissing him for the rest of her life. And even more so for feeling something for someone else far deeper than what she feels for him, who should be the only one she feels that way for. But in this moment, coming into her house, removing her shoes, she doesn't think of him. She thinks instead of Angie, and how empty her days will be without her, and how much the thought of losing her, the knowledge that she's _lost her_ , hurts.

 

            She sinks to the floor of the hallway in a silent sob, burying her head in her hands. It's physically painful, her chest aches and her head is splitting and she never knew she could feel so much from emotion alone but here she is, coming apart at the seams. Her makeup runs down her face in rivers, turning her into something that vaguely resembles a poorly drawn topography, but she can't be bothered to wipe it way. Can't stop the tears from pouring from her eyes, or the sobs that wrack her lungs and must not be as quiet as she thought, because some after some interminable time Bucky's standing in front of her in socks and pajamas, clearly unsure what to do.

 

            After a moment he sits down beside her, and a moment later wraps an arm around her, pulling her head into his shoulder. They stay like that for some time, Peggy simply crying against his chest. Neither of them are particularly cuddly people. This is certainly the most prolonged physical contact they've had with each other since Barnes returned home, but it's comfortable nonetheless. And Peggy is grateful that he found her, this man who is such a friend to her, in this moment. As her sobs begin to quiet and still, as she runs out of tears to cry and is feeling hollow and sick on the sheer quantity of snot that's run down the back of her throat, Bucky finally speaks.

            "What's wrong?" He asks, quietly.

            "It's a rather long story," she replies, choking on an attempt to laugh.

            "Should I get Steve?"

            "No, god no." She's emphatic. She couldn't handle seeing him right now, not after what she's done...

            "He didn't hurt you, did he?" Bucky suddenly tenses up beneath her.

            "Of course not. He's...he's such a good man. I couldn't ask for anyone better" to her surprise she's starting to cry again, and Bucky is once again caught in storm of awkward uncertainty. Upon reflection she realizes he's probably never seen her cry before. Eventually he stands, extending his metal hand to her.

            "Here," he offers, "Let me make you some tea. Tell me this long story of yours."

 

            They sit together at the kitchen table, sipping chamomile tea and talking as if it isn't nearly two in the morning. Usually, Peggy would protest that chamomile isn't tea at all, doesn't contain a tealeaf. Brits are picky about that, and it's been passed down to her, but she's fully aware that the last thing she needs right now is caffeine. She doesn't tell Bucky the full story, not like he's asked for--somehow, telling Barnes before telling Steve (and some part of her knows that, sooner or later, she will tell Steve. She must) would simply add to the betrayal she's already committed. So she tells him instead what she's afraid of. What Angie means to her. And she asks him about his friendship with Steve, notices the faraway look on his face when he tells her about trying his damnedest to protect Steve when they were young and the extreme lengths Steve would go to demonstrate his unwillingness to be protected. It's becoming increasingly clear that what she feels for Angie is not un-akin to what Bucky feels for Steve. This thought is mildly reassuring until Bucky broaches another topic altogether.

            "I've been meaning to ask you," he says, "why you never call me Bucky"

            "That's Steve's name for you," she replies, "I've never felt I had any right to it."

            "You married him, Peg. Isn't what's his yours and what's yours his and all that?" She pauses for a moment to consider this thought before continuing.

            "Not when it comes to you, Barnes. Losing you...it hurt him deeply. For a long time, in ways I couldn't begin to understand."

            "You could call me Bucky, if you want" he offers,

            "No, I can't. You mean something specific to him sergeant. Something special. You are a good friend, and I care for you more than I can say, but compared to how deeply Steve cares my feelings toward you mean not a whit." Bucky looks away slightly, uncomfortable, and after a moment Peggy continues. "James is my son, Bucky is who you are to Steve, and Sergeant Barnes is my friend and the best damn babysitter this side of the moon." It seems so simple, laid out like that. And in Peggy's mind it always has been, except now she's looking at Bucky's face when he talks about her husband, and remembering how Angie would look at her, and what it felt like to kiss her, and wondering if it really is so simple after all.

 

            The next morning she feels much worse than the night before. She's exhausted and has the equivalent of a hangover from crying--her head is splitting, her eyes are sore, and her sadness has settled into her chest, dragging her down. Like her heart's too heavy from all the pain she's caused it and it won't ever soar again, without Angie. And she's knows that's melodramatic and sappy and a thousand other things she swore she'd never be but now cannot avoid. Worse yet is that she can't just lay in bed, curl up with a book the way she'd like to. Her son is hungry and crying; he needs her. And Steve, upon waking, immediately notices something is up. Notices the sadness she's sure she's exuding like an aura. She owes him an explanation, but before that she owes him the truth. It would be easier, she thinks, to tell him that truth if she knew what it was, but she doesn't.

 

            She does love him. She is happy with him. And she definitely doesn't want to leave him--can't stand the thought of not seeing her son every day, of not seeing her son with his father every day. But she's also allowing the realization that she's never been particularly _in love_ with him to settle into her being. She thought she knew what romantic love was, thought all those other people were simply exaggerating when now she knows that what they talked of simply wasn't there, for her. And attraction--god help her, Steve has never _turned her on_ the way Angie did with a single kiss. Her entire body burned. She forgot where the ground was, that's how lost she was with Angie touching her like that. She wonders, vaguely, if she's always been attracted to women--if those infatuations and idolizations she had as a young adult were more than merely wanting a friend, as she had always assumed. But that hardly matters. What matters now is that she's attracted to someone--physically, emotionally, intellectually--every atom of her is attracted to someone as though they are opposite electric charges. Her body sings to be near someone who isn't her husband, and she doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know what she wants.

 

            There's a small part of her that realizes she hasn't really got much of a choice: Everyone, particularly everyone affiliated with government work in some way or another, knows that Senator McCarthy has begun a witch-hunt for homosexuals. Sees them as a threat to national security, as morally weak and easy to blackmail. Anyone on a government paycheck is at risk, even those without security clearances. Peggy heard of a teacher who was fired under the new executive order and killed herself a few days later. She's seen the newspaper headlines the day after they raid bars, men and women being paraded in front of the cameras as they are heralded into waiting paddy wagons. It doesn't matter that she doesn't consider herself a homosexual. Doesn't matter that she doesn't know what she is. If she wanted to work again, and anyone so much as saw her holding hands with Angie, she would be at risk. And that means if she left Steve, she would have no way of supporting herself. She is trapped. And so along with guilt and exhilaration and loss she also feels fear.

 

            It is that fear, ultimately, that re-enforces how much she needs to her to talk to her husband. Because as noon comes along and Bucky has gone out to fix the fence in the front yard, insisting that after so much destruction he just wants to _create_ something, and little James is asleep against her shoulder, she realizes she wouldn't be afraid of the consequences of something she has no intention of doing. She's not going to leave Steve. She's not sure what she's going to do. But clearly this is something they have to discuss. And it's not a discussion she's looking forward to.

 

            But she can't. Not as in: She's afraid of the consequences (though she is). Not as in: She really doesn't want to (though she doesn't). In the rare moments when she and Steve are alone the next few days, as they get ready for bed, she tries to tell him. And she chokes on the words, her head swims with possibilities, and she can't decide. Doesn't know how to start this conversation, can't stand the idea that if she goes about telling him wrong he'll...he'll hate her, or she'll hurt him, or, or, or. She knows what this is, she's seen it before, hell, it's even happened to her before. She's freezing up. The way soldiers sometimes do in war. The last time this happened she didn't have a choice but to un-freeze, bullets were flying everywhere and she'd have been killed. This time there's no mortal danger to settle her mind, stop her frantic ruminating.


	7. Pretends to sleep as he looks her over/She dreams in color she dreams in red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alll right so you're getting this a day early as I'm going to have a lot of work to do tomorrow, and also in celebration of the fact that I've finished drafting this fic! Finally. The last few chapters took quite awhile to write, for some reason.   
> Also, and this is partially because my chapter titles are driven by the song lyrics, the pacing gets a little strange in our denouement. So the chapters are tending to be a bit shorter and cover a bit less time in our fictional world. Just a heads up.   
> There's some semi-explicit sex dream stuff in this one, if you're not up for it you can skip the paragraph starting with "First she dreamt"   
> And as always my endless gratitude to those of you who've commented :)

             Steve notices, of course. Well. She's sure he doesn't know _exactly_ what's going on but he notices that she's trying to say something. As they get ready for bed one night he lays a hand on her shoulder.

            "Peg," he says softly, "I know you'll tell me what's wrong when you're ready. Just let me know if you need anything and you got it."

            "Thank you," Peggy sighs in return, attempting to relax into his touch. She doesn't succeed. She feels guilty, when he touches her, because she wishes he were someone he is not. It's unfair to him. This whole thing is unfair to him, and there's a deep irony in that because she doesn't think he's ever been unfair to anyone. Eventually she pulls away from his hand. "I think I ought to sleep," she says, turning her back to him.

 

            This is unusual--they normally end the day curled up together in bed, reading or talking through their lives, the lamps on the nightstand only turned off when sleep becomes absolutely necessary. Still. She can't stand to be near him right now, to give the impression of intimacy when _she knows_ she's lying to him by omission about something that could not possibly be a bigger deal. Because the more she thinks about it, the more she notices that it's been a week since Angie kissed her and she can't think about anything else, the more she thinks that maybe she's in love for the first time in her life. It's monumental and exciting and terrifying and she's sure that if circumstances were different she'd want to scream it from the rooftops like the old cliché. She'd want everyone to know. Because it's not trivial. Because something about her has changed on an extremely fundamental level.

 

            As it is she just wants to scream.

 

            But she rolls over with her back to her husband silently, clicks off her lamp. Steve's is still on and she can feel his gaze on the back of her neck as she tucks her knees to her chest, forces her breath to rise and fall steadily, closes her eyes. She lies there waiting for sleep to come for what feels like forever while Steve reads and glances (meaningfully, she's sure) at her back, her hair splayed on the pillow. Finally she hears him sigh as he turns his own lamp off, feels the bed shift underneath him as he lies down. It is only then that she relaxes enough to truly sleep.

 

_and what dreams may come_ , she reflects bitterly the next morning.

 

            First she dreamt she was back on the dance floor with Angie, and they were laughing, heads thrown back. Her hands were on Angie's waist, and then on her hips, and then carding through her wonderfully soft hair as they kissed, deep and slow. They were alone in their own private world, and Peggy's bright red lipstick was a stark, messy contrast against Angie's skin. She tried, vainly, to rub it off with a handkerchief, until Angie caught her wrist, whispering for her to _leave it_ as she was pulled into another kiss, even deeper than the first. And Peggy's head was spinning, her breath was becoming shallow as Angie led her to her own bedroom, sat on the edge of her bed and murmured _may I Pegs?_ against her clavicle while her fingers traced over the zipper at the back of her dress. And in her dream Peggy swallowed thickly, whispered _please_ in response as Angie gently removed her dress and then they were both naked and Angie's legs were between her own and her hand was on her breasts and she was arching into the bite of Angie's mouth against her pulse point and she was guiding Angie's hand to her center...

 

            She wakes with a start to James' cries, her face flush and her cunt achingly wet, her entire body hypersensitive. She gets out of bed softly, Steve is still asleep. Detours to the bathroom to splash some cold water across her face before tending to her son. She tries desperately not to think of how good Angie was with him, how comfortable it was, the three of them together. She fails.

 

            Once James is asleep once more, she slides back into bed and spends an immeasurable amount of time staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the memory of Angie's face. Of the way Angie said her name. Of the myriad small ways she touched her--a hug as a greeting, a hand held to maneuver through a crowd, a palm to the small of her back as she reached to take James. Of the three of them beneath the autumn trees in a place Peggy had kept as purely her own. Until now.

 

            When she finally falls back asleep, she dreams of Angie again. This time they're in her kitchen, and Angie is teaching her to cook some dish or another from her childhood. And they're just existing together in comfortable companionship. Angie's extending a spoon for her to taste something, asking her what it needs. Rewarding her with a small kiss when she identifies, correctly, that the sauce could use more basil. It's nothing remarkable, just an image of any other day. But at the same time it's breathtakingly painful, the realization that she wants this calm domesticity with Angie. Wants a life with her as much as her body longs to be touched by her. This, this is the truly forbidden fruit. The thing she cannot have but wants with a terrifyingly singular purpose.

 

            When she wakes again she sadness is seeping into her chest, the pit of her stomach. She feels sick with it.

 

            Steve and Bucky are fighting, which doesn't make her day any easier. She doesn't know what about and frankly, isn't sure she's got enough energy in her to ask. If she knew she'd be obliged to deal with it. But as it is when she comes into the kitchen to make breakfast for herself Steve and Barnes are having a staring match over the coffee pot. Steve's face is flush and his hands are clenched at his sides, and Bucky's glaring lasers strong enough to bring the damn coffee back to a boil. It's a moment before they realize she's come in, but finally Steve turns to her, smiles tersely, and mumbles something about wanting to work on his car some today. At that Bucky raises an eyebrow, giving Steve a meaningful look that Steve studiously ignores, leaving for the garage. Bucky watches his retreat, no longer glaring as he turns to help her make some scrambled eggs and bacon in relative silence. There is something palpable between Barnes and her husband, there always has been. And now that she realizes what, exactly, is drawing her to Angie, she can't help but wonder if she's the only full-grown adult in her house that's fallen in love with their best friend.

 

            She plates three good helpings of eggs and bacon, and hands two plates to Barnes. "Could you bring this to Steve?" She asks pointedly. Bucky stares dumbly at her, mouth slightly agape. When he respond doesn't she continues, "He should be in the garage, I think" Her tone is somewhere between a command and a dare. It's one Bucky hasn't heard since she was taking down ego-inflated sexist boys in the army.

            "Of course," He replies with a terse nod, falling into the easy charade of having had a choice in the matter. Peggy just smiles. As she sits down to eat, with her fresh tea and the morning's newspaper, she softly hopes this will force them to bridge whatever discontent has been sewn between them.

 

            She and James have a quiet day. Both her boys are out in the garage working out their differences. Or the car. She doesn't know and she still doesn't care to. It's a Saturday, and it's so slow and quiet in the house she finds herself glancing at the clock, imagining what Angie's doing at a given moment. She'll have gone into work early that morning, taken the breakfast shift so she's off at noon to go to auditions, if she can find any. In any case she'll be back at her boardinghouse by four, because she needs to leave at six to go to her ma's weekly family dinner. As it gets nearer and nearer to four, to the one time of day Peggy's certain where Angie is, she itches to pick up the phone. She knows the phones are shared, but someone'll pick them up and pass her along to Ange. And then she'd get to hear her voice again.

 

            Is she allowed? Angie hasn't talked to her at all since she left alone at the dance hall over a week ago, now. So she probably doesn't want to hear from Peggy. She's probably hurt and....and Peggy should just let her alone, right? After all, what can she possibly say: I'm sorry I have a husband but I'm so in love with you it's making me dizzy? It's lonely here without you please come back? Have you been eating well? Do you miss me the way I miss you? Will I ever see you again?

 

            Six o'clock rolls around and Peggy still hasn't figured out what she'd say, still hasn't called. Perhaps that's for the best, she thinks as she plays with James on the living room floor. After all, before she can have any answers for Angie there's another conversation she's got to have.


	8. She practices her speech

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the fluff begin! We're getting close to the end here friends--thank you so much for commenting, those that have, it means a lot to me and I read every single one I'm just really bad at figuring out how to respond coherently when y'all are making me happy-flap.   
> Also, if you're interested, I just started a new multichapter fic--not in this fandom, unfortunately, bc my attention wanders way too much for that--it's Person of Interest.

           On Sunday she asks Bucky if he'd like to take James to the park. As usual, he's delighted by the prospect. She watches from the doorway of the nursery while he gets James bundled up in his winter clothes--they can't have him catching a cold, after all, and with the trees newly bare it's only a matter of time before the first snow of the season freezes everything. He's got a little hat that she knit him, navy blue with a red stripe and a white star on the very top of his little head. Barnes once told her it's the most patriotic thing he'd ever seen, and they were in the freaking military. When they're all ready to go Peggy walks them both to the entryway, first kissing James' cheek and then drawing Barnes into an unusually fierce hug. He smiles reassuringly at her before lifting James as though he were a plane and _whooshing_ energetically out the door.

 

            She locks the door behind them before venturing into the backyard to find Steve. He's getting their rosebushes and shrubbery pruned back so they'll survive the winter to come.

            "Steve," she's standing barefoot on the frost-covered lawn, the grass prickling at the soles of her feet, "We need to talk." He looks up, examining her face with concern.

            "Yeah," he finally replies, "We do."

 

            Fifteen minutes later they're sitting at the kitchen table, a freshly brewed pot of tea in front of them. Peggy finds herself uncharacteristically stalling, stirring her tea, fiddling with the handle on her cup. She doesn't feel nervous, actually. Just a sad resignation. Steve waits for her to speak. Finally she looks up. She can't think of a good way to start this conversation so instead of gently easing into the topic she decides to jump in feet first.

            "I kissed Angie," she says calmly, as if she were remarking on the weather.

            "I see," Steve is taken a little aback but trying not to let it show. He'd be succeeding, too, except that Peggy knows him so well. "Why?" He finally asks--not demanding--just curious.

            "I think...I think I might be in love with her. I'm..." and here her voice cracks slightly, "I'm so sorry Steve. I'm so very sorry."

            "Well, do you love me?" Steve's brow is furled in confusion.

            "Yes! Of course I do. You're my best friend. You're the best father my son could possibly have" Peggy's feeling slightly frantic.

            "Then you have no reason to be sorry." Steve says this as if it were obvious but it's so far from the response Peggy was expecting that she finds herself spluttering.

            "But...I'm attracted to her the way I should be to you."

            "Peggy," Steve smiles reassuringly. "I don't love who you think you should be. I love _you_. And if you're in love with Angie, if that's an important part of you, then I love that too." He says this as if it were so simple, and for a moment Peggy believes it will be.

            "Thank you," she manages, leaning forward to take his hand in hers "I can't imagine what I did to deserve you." At this Steve visibly blanches.

            "I'm really not so great Pegs." He murmurs.

            "You are." She insists, "I couldn't find a better man."

            "Actually," he laughs nervously, "You probably could. I, I cheated on you Peggy."

            "What?" She drops his hand. She wasn't expecting this at all, and has to take a deep breath to remind herself to keep an open mind. Especially considering what she's just told him.

            "I thought you figured it out. And that's why you wanted to talk. I know, _I know_ I should have told you right away and I really have no excuse I'm _so sorry_..."

            "Wait, slow down," Peggy interjects, "Who did you cheat on me with?" It shouldn't matter, probably, but it's the first question that comes to her mind. Steve blushes and slouches his already small body further down his chair.

            "Bucky," he mutters barely loud enough for her to hear.

            Peggy erupts in laughter in response. It's probably not the best reaction, but oh well. This entire conversation took a detour towards the absurd some time ago. "You two were never just best friends were you?" She finally asks.

            "I mean we were," Steve's still blushing, "Just not, not for a long time. We first hooked up when we were seventeen. He, he kept trying to dissuade me from joining up and one night I asked him why he cared so damn much what happened to me and he kissed me and then....when he came back, and he wasn't dead I...." He trails off, which is all well and good because he's gone above and beyond in answering Peggy's question.

            "Oh lord," Peggy wipes at her eyes with her apron, "That is too funny. I spent all this time thinking what I felt for Angie, how she looked at me, was just normal friendship because that's the way you and Bucky had always interacted." Steve seems to have finally stopped fearing for his head and smiles slightly.

            "I guess we're even more alike than we thought." He replies.

            "Is that what you and Barnes were arguing about? The two of you?" She asks.

            "He wanted to tell you. I wasn't ready. But he thought you...deserved to know. And you do." She nods.

            "Just as you deserve to know what's going on with my life Steve, yes." She pauses for a minute, and they just look each other over. "Well then," she continues, "What on God's green bloody earth are we going to do?"

            Steve smiles broadly this time, "Well," he says slowly, "I think that rather depends on what Angie has to say, don't you?"

            This is so very far from where she envisioned this conversation going that she nearly does a spit-take with her tea.

 

            They talk for a long time about what they want, what's realistic. When Bucky and James come home Barnes joins the conversation. Aside from the suddenly inconvenient sleeping locations they are all so happy with their current living arrangements that any of them moving out is dismissed out of hand. In fact Peggy is ecstatic. She thinks that, with Bucky and Steve together, they'll all be so much happier. She no longer has to try to fill a role she doesn't quite connect to, and Steve and Bucky--who are currently holding hands under the table--look so happy together she can't help but feel an overflowing of love for them both. She's so glad that Steve wants, like her, for them all to be in the same place for each other and to raise James. The boys-- _her boys_ , as she's now insistent on calling them aloud--even try to help her think of ideas to win Angie's heart back. They range from the impractical and ridiculous to the small and genuine and she feels so much more supported, there with the two of them, then she ever expected to be. It's a little overwhelming, honestly.

           

            She can't quite imagine, after all the implausibly good things that have happened today, that she can possibly ask for one more unlikely good thing. She can't quite imagine Angie will forgive her for leaving the way she did. Or for lying. To be honest she isn't sure that, if there positions were reversed, she'd be all that forgiving. But she knows now that she can have a life with this spectacular woman. And with her husband, and her son--these lives are by what can only be a miracle not mutually exclusive. So having been given that chance at the impossible, she knows she has to take it.

 

            They move Steve's stuff out of the room he and Peggy share that night. It's a fast adjustment but honestly none of them are sure they'll stay sane without some kind of change. A physical reflection of the accord they've come to. Peggy doesn't doubt that it's a good idea, but she does still feel a twinge of loss. Her boys notice and accordingly the three of them sleep in a warm, curled-up mess on her bed that night. She feels so safe, between the two of them. So calm.

 

            They give her a much-needed dose of courage.


	9. When she was bold and strong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so here it is the chapter we've all been waiting for :) They'll be an epilogue too but this is the conclusion of our story, I am both proud to say and afraid.   
> Anyhow, as usual, I can't thank those of you who've commented enough, and likewise to everyone leaving kudos/bookmarking/reading through this story with me thank you all.   
> Slightly spoilery content warning: the parenthetical at the end gets a bit explicit

           Monday morning dawns like any other but Peggy's world has completely inverted. It's a incongruous feeling. Steve leaves for work, pressing a kiss to her cheek and another to Bucky's lips. She paces, restless, around the house until noon, when she dawns her blue peacoat and red portrait hat again, the same ones she wore when she met Angie, all those months ago. She's struck by the realization that the day they met seemed like any other as well. How life changes in such small moments is certainly a topic she could devote quite a bit of thought to, but right now there are more pressing concerns.

            She hugs both Barnes and her son before leaving. The sergeant lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder, reminds her with a smile to, "Just keep breathing, Pegs."

            "Well Barnes," she quips in response, "That's certainly the plan." The way her hands shake as she wraps her scarf on her neck belie her casual tone. She's definitely nervous.

 

            Once again she takes the train into Manhattan, wrapped in anxious déjà vu. Instead of going to the museum this time she goes directly to the L&L. She hasn't been back since that first time she took James with her, but she knows exactly where she's going. She doesn't think she could ever forget anything about the time she's spent with Angie.

           

            Unless something has changed in the last week, she's getting there towards the end of Angie's shift. She's banking on the hope that nothing has. As she opens the door she immediately looks around, but Angie's nowhere in sight. This causes a momentary increase in anxiety, but she tells herself Ange could be behind the counter or in the kitchen or a dozen other places she can't see but are still _here_. She sits, still shaky, at the counter. And then she sees her--she's not doing anything spectacular, just waiting for the coffee pot to be refilled, but she's every atom as beautiful as remembered. Peggy is overtaken by a sudden wave of longing, making the ten days since they've last spoken seem like a small eternity.

           

            When Angie turns around and sees her she nearly drops the coffee pot she's holding, setting it down on the counter with slightly too loud a thud.

            "English," she manages once she's recovered from the apparent shock, "Can't say I expected to see you here."

            "Angie..." Peggy starts, but Ange is quick to interrupt her.

            "What can I get you?" She takes her order pad out as if Peggy were any other customer, and Peggy tries not to be grievously hurt. Tells herself that the cook could be watching, that Angie has to follow this script, that it doesn't mean she doesn't...

            "Five minutes of your time?" Peggy's face is pleading but her tone is level. Angie sighs.

            "I don't know Pegs." Her eyes are downcast and Peggy thinks she can see tears welling behind them.

            "Please," Peggy whispers, "I've come.... I’ve come to apologize"

            "What for?" Angie looks up at her then, face a calculated mask. It's clear this question is a test.

            "For lying to you." Peggy swallows.

            "All right," Ange raises an eyebrow--this was not the response she was expecting. "My shift ends in ten minutes. Wait here and we'll walk back to my place so we can talk in private, okay?"

            "Okay." Peggy nods quickly. "Thank you, Angie."

            "Yeah," Angie says, turning away with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

 

            They walk back to Angie's room in stifling silence. Peggy knows why, knows there's nothing they can say to each other until they've had this conversation, and a Manhattan sidewalk is surely no place to have it. But it's alien--Ange _talks_ , it's what she does, so to have saying nothing for so long is...the knot in Peggy's stomach grows with each step. By the time they've reached the door she can feel little else.

 

            Angie walks in ahead of her and sits on the bed. It's the first time Peggy's been in her room, actually, and she takes a few deep breaths as the door closes behind her and takes it all in: the bookshelf, the pictures on the wall, the vanity, the portrait of Angie's family from before the war, and finally Angie herself.

            "Well," Angie says as she removes her shoes, "You had something to say?"

            "Yes," Peggy takes a shuddering breath, "I've thought a lot, this past week, and I...everything I realized to be true, everything I thought, reinforced what I think I've known for a long time. What I realized when you kissed me, when you asked me about....about Steve. And I'm sorry, because I panicked, and I lied to you when I said that I'm...I'm in love with him. I'm not. I love him very much but I don't think I'd ever been in love before. At least," She finally makes eye contact with those piercing green eyes, now moistening, "Not like this."

            "Peggy..." Angie's on the verge of tears and Peggy's sure she is too, takes a step forward so that she can reach out and gently brush them away before interrupting.

            "The things I feel for you Ange...I thought when people talked about love, when they talked about attraction, they were taking artistic license. They were making up a nice story. Now I know, I know that's not true. I look at you and I can't look away, my heart it...beams, it overflows with love. And when you touch me there's nothing else in my world except us. And that scares me, it scares me so much, but I don't think I could ever forgive myself if I didn't at least ask to have you in life."

            Angie's hand comes to rest atop her own, against her cheek, and she tilts her head up, kissing Peggy fiercely. It's wet and sloppy and they're both crying and at one point their noses knock together but Peggy's got that feeling again. Like she's made it up the summit of the mountain, and she's running out of oxygen but it doesn't matter she's got the whole world at her feet. An entire realm of possibility before her. Finally Angie breaks away from her.

            "What about Steve?" She asks softly. "I mean, you're still married, Pegs. How's this going to work?"

            "Ah. That." Peggy chews her bottom lip, trying to keep a straight face. This is a serious matter, after all. "Interestingly enough, it turns out he's in love with Bucky Barnes."

            "WHAT?" Obviously, this is not the answer Angie was expecting, and it's absurd, the whole thing is absurd and it can't possibly be real life but they're laughing and Peggy's sitting down by her and telling her about the conversation they had last night and eventually they lie down, and Peggy removes her coat and shoes. They lay on the bed, knees touching, hands clasped together in the middle, and they talk. About what Angie wants, what Peggy wants. About where they go from here.

 

            It's not like there's a step-by-step guide. It's not like they can just go out on dates, two women, one with a husband and baby at home. There's no precedent they have to follow. They're making this up on their own.

 

            But they're making it up together, and that's what matters. That's enough.

 

            Eventually, the afternoon light angles low through Angie's window and Peggy asks if she'd like to come to dinner that night--see how it's like, the four of them together. Angie agrees and so they ride the train back, and they really ought not sit so close in public, really shouldn't angle their heads together or hold hands. What would have been easily explained as friendship before the war, or camaraderie during, has fallen under inexplicable suspicion. But in this moment, this afternoon when what they thought to be impossible was discovered to be reality, Peggy can't quite bring herself to care. The anxiety she feels, the amount of risk she can't help but perceive is overshadowed for the moment by the fact that she never wants to let go of Angie again.

 

            Barnes is cooking that night, and the rest of them try not to get in the way while they hang around the kitchen. It's a good night, for all of them. There's lots of laughter and blushing, knowing looks and good-natured teasing and when Bucky and Steve insist on washing the dishes together and James is asleep and Angie and Peggy find themselves alone again, this time in Peggy's room, the first thing Angie says to her is, "This could actually work, couldn't it?"

            Peggy merely tilts her head in response and Angie smiles wanly, "When you were describing it, when it was just the two of us, it didn't feel like it could be real. But it is."

            "Yeah," Peggy brushes a curl of Angie's hair gently away from her face and Angie meets her eyes again. "It's very real."

            "I could, I could," Angie swallows, bringing a hand up over Peggy's, pressing it to her cheek, "I could really have you?"

            "Yes Angie" Peggy replies in a shaky breath, Angie's meaning not at all lost on her, "You could have me...however you choose. I am wholly yours." Angie responds by kissing her fiercely, desperately. When she pulls away, though, she shakes her head.

            "No you aren't." She whispers, "You're...you're still Steve's in a way, and you're kind of Bucky's and you're definitely James'. You're...responsible, maybe, or answerable, to all of them. And you're yours, as always. But you're mine too."

            "I am. If you'll have me, Ange, I am yours in a way that is not quite the same."

            "No. It isn't the same at all," Angie agrees. "I'm the only one who gets to do this." She kisses her again and Peggy thinks a whole world is opening up in the nonexistent space between them. Behind their eyelids stars are being born, and Peggy pulls Angie onto her lap, hands insistently wandering the planes of her back. Exploring. Disbelieving, as Angie is, that this can really happen: It feels too monumental. Like a disruption in the fabric of reality in a way that has nothing to do with Steve or Bucky or James inexorable impact on the two of them together and everything to do with Angie's lips against her own, Angie's hands on her shoulders.

            "Angie," Peggy says, embarrassingly breathless when they part, "you should know that I...I've never felt it before, what I feel for you. And the thought of not having you in my life is unbearable to me."

            "Aww Pegs," Angie's tearing up a little, "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me." She kisses her again briefly, before continuing, "And I love you too, you utter fool."

            "Me," Peggy raises an eyebrow in mock-indignation, " _I'm_ the utter fool?"

            "Yeah," Angie laughs, playing lightly with the collar of Peggy's blouse, "you are." The way she looks at Peggy is _hungry_ , that's the only way Peggy knows how to describe it, and something in her belly unfurls in response. Desire, certainly, but also an unmistakable anxiety.

            "You should also know that I, I've never done...this before"

            "Oh?" Angie plays with her hair in a way Peggy could quickly become addicted to. "And what is _this_ , exactly?" When Peggy doesn't answer Angie presses a kiss to her forehead, "What do you want, honey? You can tell me, it's all right."

            "I want _you_." Peggy responds, "But I've never, I mean I don't, I don't know _how_."

            "Sweetheart just do what feels good. And tell me what feels good when I do to you. I promise it isn't all that different from what ya did about nine months before James was born." She tries for humor and it lands a bit flat.

            "No Ange it _is_ ," Peggy is quick to insist, "That, with Steve, I, I love him and he never hurt me or did anything I didn't want but it...it didn't feel like this either. I didn't feel with him the way I feel with you. And it didn't feel _good_."

            "Oh," Angie is taken aback, "Peggy I..."

            "We don't have to if you don't want to. We don't have to yet." Peggy interjects, blushing, terrified she's already managed to break this brand-new thing between them.

            "I do want to, Pegs. I want to very much." Angie is quick to reassure, and she ducks down so that Peggy can see her directly when she says, "I want to make you feel good. That's what I want. So you've got to tell me, you promise?"

            "Yes," Peggy's nearly overwhelmed again, by how _perfect_ this is and also by how flawed, by how much being in this moment with Angie feels exactly right and how, if she ever envisioned this conversation, it wouldn't have looked a thing like this. "Yes I promise. And you've got to tell me too."

            "Of course," Angie smiles broadly and Peggy's heart melts even more.

 

            Their first time is not at all what Peggy imagined it to be. It's hesitant, it's asking "May I?" in increasingly thick tones, it's fervently nodding _yes_ , it's oops-that-was-ticklish, it's quiet laughter, it's exploration and awe at the trust they've been granted, to see each other like this. To touch each other like this.

            It's overwhelming.

            And it's _perfect_.

 

            (Angie's mouth is biting lightly against her neck, she's kissing along her clavicle, she's moving down her body in line with her sternum, pausing briefly to feel her full breasts before continuing down, pressing kisses to her belly, tracing over her stretch marks with her fingers. Coming to the scar on her thigh and tapping lightly, questioningly, and so Peggy tries to explain how she fell out of a tree as a child, caught a branch on the way down, but she can't quite focus, not when she can feel Angie's breath against her inner thighs, not when Angie smiles like _that_ and presses a kiss to the scar in question before kissing higher, higher and a little to the right and oh good lord her mouth is against Peggy's center. She's sucking on her clit and flicking it lightly with her tongue and Peggy can't help it, her hips are pressing up in response of their own accord, her world is going white with pleasure. She's carding her fingers through Angie's hair, Angie's humming against her and she's making noises she's never even heard before in response. Angie dips her tongue into her and Peggy _mewls_ , she licks up at her clit again and Peggy's whole body tenses beneath her, she shakes like the string of an instrument that Angie has plucked, she is completely severed from the world and completely in her body all at the same time, she shouts her _delight_ and Angie works her way back up her body, smile radiating joy as she kisses Peggy once more and Peggy tastes herself on her lips, tries to catch her breath.

            And Angie whispers "How was that?" against the shell of her ear and she can't quite find the words to say that her whole life has tilted on it's axis and come back up again changed, that nothing will ever be quite what it was before so she just husks in reply:

            " _Amazing_ , darling" And Angie beams in response and Peggy finds herself kissing her again, and again, and turning them over. Running her hands over the spectacular expanses of Angie's body, circling fingertips around her hip bones asking, "Can I please..." to have Angie guide her hand downward in response and she's pressing up against wet heat, dipping her index finger around Angie's opening before moving it, now slick, up to her swollen clit and lord, the faces Angie's making, the way her head is thrown back against the pillows, the way she asks, after a moment,

            "Inside... _please,_ Pegs" And Peggy kisses her again as she gently eases a finger inside, explores the texture of her walls, feels her pulse around her and she presses harder and Angie's spine is arching up, her head is snapping back, she's shouting her name and gasping for breath. In a moment she gently guides Peggy's hand away, swallows again, and lord she is so beautiful and Peggy is astonished that she's gotten to see this, gotten to touch her this way, gotten to make her feel this. And as she lays her head on Angie's chest, listens to her heartbeat as Angie cards her fingers reassuringly through her hair, says, "Thank you, Peggy, thank you." Peggy knows this overwhelming affection she feels for her is not a fluke. Knows she would do just about anything to be able to lay naked with Angie like this again, legs tangled between them, bodies cooling down. She feels safe and loved and trusted and simply _delighted_ , to be here in this moment, this moment completely separated from time. With Angie. The love she's feeling is overflowing. It's coming off of her in waves, and as she leans upward to slowly kiss Angie again, to hold whispered conversations with their foreheads pressed together, secure in their own private world, she knows Angie feels it as well. Feels loved.)


	10. Epilogue: She'll be back again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, here it is, the tail (/tale, hehe) end. Thank you all for sticking it out with me over the past...what now, bit over a month? And if you're doing what I usually do and have waited until the work is complete to binge-read it, thank you too :)  
> As usual, your comments are fantastic and make me so happy. And if you want to talk w/ me about Angie/Peggy/Bucky/Steve in this odd little universe I've created, or anything else really, pls hit me up on tumblr, I'm coriander-dreams.

           A little over a year later Angie and Bucky get married. Peggy is the Matron of Honor and Steve is the Best Man so the wedding planning is, overall a _hysterical_ process.

 

            The four of them barely manage to keep a straight face (pun, Bucky informs them later, snickering unabashedly, very much intended) as they say their vows.

           

            Their traditional, Roman Catholic vows in the traditional, Roman Catholic church that appeases Angie's parents, who think she's finally found a good man and that Peggy's influence on her has been _superb_.

 

            That's another conversation Peggy nearly bursts into laughter during.

 

            Overall, it's a happy day: there's a brief moment, during the couple's dance, where Peggy feels a tinge of regret that she can't be in Bucky's place. Marrying Angie. Promising before everyone they know that she will treat this woman as family, and hold her in her heart for as long as she's allowed. She remembers when Angie took her dancing, what seems to be ages ago now, and set in motion a chain of events that, in retrospect, feel a lot like fate. Because she's so happy now--happier than she thought she could be--and so is Steve and Bucky and Angie. She wishes she could broadcast that joy, share it with everyone they know.

 

            But really, everyone they know hardly matters when Angie gets to move in with her, now, and the people that are important: Steve, Bucky, little James who's just beginning to talk--all these people know what Angie means to her. And what she means to Angie.

 

            It was a stroke of brilliance having her and Bucky get married. Peggy usually disdains alcohol but she's very glad they all got uproariously drunk together three months ago, just after James stared sleeping through the night. Because this is really, the cleanest solution: they can all live together in their three bedroom house with their son and no one bats an eyelid because they're two married couples and supposedly Steve is Bucky's cousin or some bullshit like that.

 

            Really, it would be a lot simpler, she knows it would be a lot simpler, if they could just be honest about who they are and what they mean to each other. But it's not particularly safe, right now, and they've got a son to raise. Steve needs people to buy his art. Bucky's had a hard enough time as it is, proving his skill as a carpenter with his prosthetic arm. And Peggy knows Angie will make it to Broadway someday, and she'll make it back into...actually, maybe she won't return to the intelligence apparatus after all. She's been feeling increasingly disillusioned with the military, with the government, and she thinks perhaps she can make a life, and be happy, as James' mum after all. Or perhaps she'll find something else she loves, either way.

 

            Pretending to be two couples they are not is the safest solution that lets Angie live with them, and quit waitressing to act in community theater until she gets her big break. Since her rehearsals are in the evening, Peggy gets to spend her days with her, this woman she loves, showing her son the world. Their son, because Peggy's pretty sure that by the time James grows up he won't remember anything except having four parents loving him and raising him and joking with him. Steve and Bucky usually get home early enough for the four of them to all eat together, most nights. Well, four and half, as James becomes more reliant on solid food--but he's still eating applesauce and puréed sweet potatoes instead of the lasagna and homemade bread Angie and Peggy essentially destroy the kitchen in making.

 

            Peggy's not sure how that happened, the recipe isn't that complicated, but sure enough an hour in and they're both sitting on the floor, laughing so hard they can barely breathe, covered in flour.

 

            Anyway, they all eat together, and Angie kisses Peggy as she leaves for rehearsal, and then Peggy spends the evening with her boys, sprawled out across the living room, listening to the radio or reading or playing cards or trying to figure out their damn taxes. And at the very end of the day, she gets to go to bed with Angie. And when she wakes up in the morning Angie is the first person she sees. It's sappy and romantic and comfortable and domestic and never something Peggy dared to want, but here the world has been so kind as to give it to her anyway. And she wouldn't trade snuggles with her boys and kisses with Angie and days with her quickly-growing son for the world itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many little ideas for this universe: changing sex(ish, actually) dynamics so they get to a point where they're all happy with Peggy occasional domming Bucky and Steve, because that's something I see a not insignificant amount of art for and dig, them maybe having another kid somehow, Angie's big break...I didn't think I'd wind up with this many loose ends but I kind of have. So: If you've got ideas, hit me up. I probably will give writing these characters a rest for a little while, but I definitely plan on returning to them and perhaps specifically to this AU 
> 
> Also, hats off to fannishliss who basically called it, much to my amusement :)


End file.
